


Another Day Another Stickup

by my99centdreams



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Pulp Fiction AU, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Pulp Fiction AU oneshot. "We're on vacation,” Frank grins. “Take it easy.” Well, they’re sort of on vacation, if being forced to cross state lines because you’re on the run counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day Another Stickup

Frank’s just finished his stack of pancakes and is about to move onto the steaming slice of apple pie to his right when Gerard says, “It’s too dangerous; I don’t want to do it anymore.”

If this was a few months ago Frank would’ve startled at that, eyes wide and confused and maybe even worried that he was going to have to go back to working at the meat packing plant. He’s just starting to get used to not smelling like dead animal and having to wash their cold blood off his hands and clothes every night. There is no way he’s going back to the plant, and there’s no way people are going to give a hoodlum like himself a chance, not when he’s tatted up like a circus freak.

But, Frank knows better now, knows how Gerard gets a little skittish with nerves when he’s casing a joint. He never means it. Well, not for long at least.

Frank laughs, “What’s life without any risk? Any danger?” he dips his finger in the dollop of whipped cream on top of his pie. “Besides, you say that every time and look where its gotten us. You know what you sound like when you talk like that?”

Gerard’s eyes follow Frank’s finger to his mouth. “Like a man who’s got his head screwed on right? The opposite of a no good punk?”

Frank preens, finally digging into his pie with finesse. “ _Ha_. No, I was thinking more along the lines of a coward, a pansy, even.”

“I thought you were the pansy here.” The right corner of his mouth quirks up the way it always does when he thinks he’s said something particularly clever.

“ _Come on_ ,” Frank groans. “After this we'll be done for good.”

“Now _you're_ the one who sounds like a broken record.” Gerard lights a cigarette. “I'd rather rob a fucking bank, a federal bank at that, there's less risk. Too much can go wrong here.”

“Nothing's going to go wrong. I believe it was just last month that you were shot - in the ass I might add - trying to escape from a bank. No more than two thousand dollars in your hand. We're on vacation,” Frank grins. “Take it easy.” Well, they’re sort of on vacation, if being forced to cross state lines because you’re on the run counts.

“That’s part of it; we’re not even doing this correctly. We’re fucking up left and right and if we don’t fix it soon our asses are gonna be thrown in jail. We need to be smart about this.” Gerard says, leaning closer to Frank with his eyes wide like he does every time he’s “serious” about something. In other words, if Frank doesn’t pay attention Gerard’s going to get pissy.

“Go on,” he urges, little bits of pie spraying out on the table.

Gerard rolls his eyes and throws a napkin at him before continuing, “It’s about the process, the plan. You can rob a bank with a gun and go to jail for fifteen years or you can rob a bank with a telephone and go to jail for five.”

Frank interjects, “You can rob a bank with a telephone?”

Gerard nods eagerly, “You can rob a bank with fucking _anything_. As long as you act like you’ve done it before nobody’s going to fuck with you.”

“A nonexistent hero factor,” Frank comments.

Gerard beams at him and waves the waitress over, watching as she refills his mug. Frank doesn’t really know where this conversation even came from considering Gerard was just talking about throwing in the towel not even ten minutes ago.

“So,” Frank pauses, eyebrow raised. “You _don’t_ want to stop robbing banks?”

“I’m not saying that! I’m saying that if we do happen to hit another bank there are easier ways to go about it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette, sounding almost considerate when he says, “More professional ways.”

“If we keep robbing banks,” Frank takes a bite of pie. “Can we stop robbing liquor stores?”

“Sure, what's a liquor store in comparison to a bank for Christ's sake? Besides, liquor stores are even more dangerous; the managers all stash shotguns under the counters nowadays. Shotguns, Frank, fucking _shotguns_. I swear, everyone in this country is fucking gun crazy.”

Frank snorts, “You have three guns.”

“I only use one!” he whines.

“I think that just makes it worse.” It totally does, too. People collect guns; just the other day there was a man on the news who admitted to owning seventeen firearms. Granted, they were all legal – unlike Gerard’s – but still. What the fuck does a person need seventeen guns for? What the fuck does Gerard need _three_ guns for?

“Anyway,” Gerard barrels on, “The point is that if we come across someone who wants to put that shotgun to good use it's going to put us in a very bad position.”

“I'm not killing anyone,” Frank rests his chin on his hands.

“I'm not killing anyone either. But, think about it.”

“So what? We stick to diners and banks?”

“Mostly diners. Nobody robs restaurants; when was the last time you heard about someone sticking up a coffee shop? Gas stations, yes, liquor stores most definitely, bars of course. Nobody robs diners, it just isn't done.”

“It'd be a surprise.”

“A huge one.”

Frank looks around, “How many of these people do you think would try to stop us?”

“How many of _these_ people?” Gerard scoffs, “None.”

“Be realistic.” Frank’s come to learn that it’s always the people you would never look at twice that try and be heroes for the day; sticking their necks out for pretty women crying as they hand their wallets over to Frank and probably coming in their pants over the idea that it might be their faces on the six o clock news that night, deemed heroes by the people of New York. They’d get ribbons and medals and invitations and dates and attention and _fame fame fame._ Frank’s too smart to play the hero role and Gerard’s too selfish. It’s probably why something as low as stealing is their calling.

“I am being fucking realistic! You're telling me that if you worked in this shithole and some junkie punk whipped out a gun on the other side of the room and pointed it at a complete fucking stranger you’d get up and try to take him down? Frankie,” Gerard clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “The only people you’d take a bullet for have one of two last names: Way or Iero.”

Frank shrugs and sticks out his tongue. Just because his hair’s getting a little greasy and his clothes are a little baggy doesn’t mean he’s a junkie. It’s Gerard’s fault they can’t even afford to get a room at a motel, fucking wasting their money away in Atlantic City last week and if Frank’s lost weight from living on Snickers and Red Bull who’s to blame but Gerard? If anyone’s a junkie here it’s fucking Gerard; popping Xanax like there’s no tomorrow.

“How much cash do you think a place like this has?”

“Not much,” Frank admits. He glances at the clock on the wall. It's too early; they haven't had enough customers yet.

“Exactly. What's the point in robbing this place?”

Frank smirks, “These are the first customers of the day. They're all still here, munching away on their greasy food. Smoking, enjoying being waited on. You know what that means?”

Gerard cracks a smile, “You want to punch them in the face?”

“Besides that.”

Gerard waits.

“They've still got all their money. They haven't spent a dime yet, not even on tips.”

Gerard grins, feral. “Brilliant.”

Frank smiles, pleased. “Thank you.”

Gerard finishes his smoke. Frank waits. “Alright. I'm ready, let's do it.”

Frank laughs happily, “Fucking knew you'd come around.”

“Once a thief always a thief.”

They shake their hair out of their faces and slide their guns out from their waistbands, placing them on the table for a moment. Gerard says, “Same as always: you're on crowd control and I’ll handle employees.”

Frank leans across the table and Gerard meets him halfway, he manages to get out a “rad” before Gerard’s mouth is on his. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.” Gerard gets on the table as Frank finishes his pie, he shouts, "Be cool this is a robbery!”

Frank follows his lead, yelling, "Any of you fuckheads move and I'll kill every last one of you motherfuckers!”


End file.
